


The Wolves of Ironhedge

by JanaNa



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Character Death, College, Coming of Age, F/M, Family Angst, High School, M/M, Pack Dynamics, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Humor, Small Town Feels, Violence, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:03:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1857342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanaNa/pseuds/JanaNa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robin McBride has come to know many things about Ironhedge, the most striking of which is that this sleepy little rural town seems to be a mecca for werewolves. His own cousin, Josie, is born with lupine blood in her veins, and some of his closest friends turn hairy at the full moon. But what Rob doesn't know is that the werewolves of Ironhedge are led by the wealthy and powerful Roman family, which has bred a long and fertile line of pureblood alphas for centuries.</p>
<p>As Rob starts his senior year of high school, a series of dangerous events begin to unfold, starting with the death of Shep Roman after his youngest son, Elijah, turns beta, to everyone's surprise. Shep is succeeded by his mysterious and volatile eldest son, Jeff, whom Rob has a myriad of bizarre encounters with.</p>
<p>However, as Jeff weathers the transition to Alpha, an outside pack rolls into town to challenge the Romans' reign. The wolves of Ironhedge, and the very human Rob, must band together in order to preserve their home, and, more importantly, their loved ones…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

# The Wolves of Ironhedge

# • ✠ •

Like its name, Ironhedge was not altogether pleasing; it was not necessarily picturesque and idyllic, as many small country towns seem to be, and nor were its inhabitants as friendly and welcoming to those unsuspecting travelers who happen to pass through, as seldom as that is. The mom-and-pop shops on Main Street are well known to its residents as places of comfortable commune and reliable service, but not to those who are strangers and passersby. It’s not that the folk of Ironhedge are opposed to outsiders, or even particularly wary of their presence; it’s simply that those who live in Ironhedge have done so for many generations. An unfamiliar face is indeed a rare sight in a little town where everyone knows everyone. It isn’t that they are exceptionally inhospitable people either; they would put up a traveler or two or entertain distant relatives for a time, but it was a simple fact that those who didn’t already have their roots in Ironhedge ever came to stay for good. In fact, they never seemed to even visit for very long…

The main street is lined on both sides by the frozen facades of hundred-year-old storefronts and rigorously maintained complexes serving a multitude of tidy purposes. The only tribute to the late twenty-first century comes in the form of street lamps on automatic timers, one renovated car wash, a couple flat screen TVs in shop windows, and a single electric-car charging station, which had been installed not even six months before; it was the peculiar pride and joy of the townspeople, even though only the Romans had an electric car and they hardly used it. There is also a Walmart at the end of town where it bordered the start of the much bigger and more accommodating Deermore. Apart from Ironhedge’s main avenue, which is packed tight with many years’ worth of specialty and convenience stores, numerous family-owned establishments, and a couple locally operated delis and cafes, the town is rather sparse, its neighborhoods stretching lazily around this center of activity.

Other noteworthy trademarks of Ironhedge include a brewery, owned by the mayor, Jack Walsh, just as his father before him, also the mayor, had owned it, and just as his father, also the mayor, had as well. It was tucked away at the east end of town where its hulking brick and metal form sat hunched like a cornered animal: at its front lay the town, sprawling over gently rolling hills, and, to its back, sat the dense forest the locals refer to as the Ironwoods. To the west, on the outskirts of town, sits the abandoned steel mill, property of the Romans, who are arguably the oldest and undoubtedly the wealthiest family; their presence has been felt in Ironhedge since as long as anyone can remember. The steel mill is subject to high-school vagabond pranks, the occasional daring trespass (the place is rumored to be haunted), and it has silently watched over its fair share of after-school fistfights.

Closer to the center of town there is a white steepled church that also serves as the city hall; it is as old as the dust it was built on, and its wide, double-doored, stained glass entrance has seen as many services, weddings, baptisms, funerals, and township meetings as the oldest tombstone in Ironhedge Cemetery has seen days pass (the withering gray stone is consequently dated 1792, but whoever’s date of death it belongs to has been long forgotten, the name eroded away into nothing more than feeble scratches, soft and malleable after decades of chronically gray, wet weather. Soon the date will be illegible too, as all things someday are.). There are two school buildings in Ironhedge; a large, flat, dirty blue structure serves as the combined elementary and middle schools, and a newer red-brick monstrosity fashioned after some semblance of the classic colonial architectural style is the high school. When it was in construction, nearly twenty years ago now, it was intended to be a college, a bourgeoning shiny beacon of progress and growth in Ironhedge, but, for whatever reason, these grand plans fell short and the original idea for the building was abandoned in favor of haphazardly finishing it up as quickly and quietly as possible and cramming the high school behind its walls. The students who now passed through it would tell you, disdainfully, if not a tad affectionately, that the looming mass of an institution looks like a prison and, of course, feels like one. If you knew where to look, it was possible to detect the structural inconsistencies in its makeup: the original architect, who had completed two-thirds of the building before it was deserted, had been replaced by a less skillful draftsman, who managed to turn the last third into an odd, botched fusion only very narrowly resembling the rest of the building. The kids laughingly refer to their high school as “Frankenstein”, and for just reason.

Fanning away from the high school, which sits awkwardly a couple blocks from the town center, residential neighborhoods dot the landscape. Nearest to town there is the historic district with a patchwork of ancient homes following after the Victorian-era archetype. These houses have belonged to the same families for many years, and, more often than not, they were the hallmarks of the more well-to-do of Ironhedge, their families having acquired some wealth over many years passed, perhaps during the time of the steel mill or from farm land, or even from the coal mines three towns over, now dead. Apart from this prized real estate, smaller and newer homes make up intricate networks of neighborhoods, all close-knit like mini communities all lined up on each street. This is where kids play ball in the street during the scorching summer days until night falls and it’s too dark to see; this is where young children learn to ride their bikes and scooters for the first time, and where brothers and sisters make irreversible life-long friendships with the next door neighbor kids; this is where teenagers sneak about in the night, avoiding the particularly nasty dog of a certain neighbor or evading the house of the old crow everyone knows stays up all night with her cats. They sit in the dark and neck with their boyfriends or girlfriends, escape to the ever-elusive party, or share a stolen bottle of their fathers’ good whiskey or pass around a carefully acquired joint.

Ironhedge is a town much like any other, for the most part; it is characterized by a network of structures and systems, codes and conducts, laws and expectations, much like any other, and its residents are much like those in any other place, although they have their fair share of secrets and hushed scandals (what community doesn’t have those things?). It is a town self-contained and self-efficient; it doesn’t need outsiders and outsiders don’t need it, and the townsfolk are quite happy with it that way. And, despite what one may think about small towns and small town people, the folks of Ironhedge are not afraid of change, although change seems to favor them slowly, and they don’t mind it that way. However, if one thing at the very least is true in life, it is that nothing is ever consistent and predictable, and little do those in Ironhedge know that change is soon going to roll into their tiny town at a frightening pace.


	2. Chapter 2

“Come on! Get out of the house!” Robin groans into his cell phone, only to hear a resounding cackle on the other end, exaggerated and teasing. Josie was going to make them so late, again. Rob, thoroughly irritated, stamps his feet to get the blood flowing again; he is standing outside the McBride’s residence, a colossal brainchild of the Gothic Revival, waiting for his cousin to grace him with her consistently tardy presence. It’s probably close to twenty degrees out and Rob is sure he is going to die of hypothermia before they get to school.

“Just a sec, Rob. You jerk. I’m almost done!” He could hear Josie rummaging through something and then her brother’s muffled complaints that she’s taking too long in the bathroom; a flurry of expletives and two seconds of a yelling match later, Josie clears out of the bathroom, but not before nearly smashing her flat iron into her brother’s face. Rob waits patiently for the brother-sister melee to end and snaps angrily,

" _Me?_ A jerk?” He hisses, “Tell me again, who drives you to school every day?” He marches over to the street sign at the corner of the road, nearly slipping ungracefully on his ass, and wrenches off the largest icicle he can find. “Get. The. Fuck. Out. Here.” He growls, and turns towards the house where he proceeds to brandish the icicle above his head warningly, “Or I will kill you with this!” He can see Josie laughing at him from the upstairs window before she snaps her phone shut and disappears. 

He’s sure the best option now would be to take off without her, but, as usual, she appears at the door right at the last second and flounces down the steps, miraculously staying upright. He glares daggers at her, tosses the icicle across the street unceremoniously, and gets in his car without a word; she continues to laugh at him as she follows suit, barely concealing her giggles when he tells her to shut up, 

“It’s already 8:15, Jo!” He seethes, his shoulders hunched up as he cranes his neck over the steering wheel, carefully maneuvering his Honda down the icy street at a snail’s pace. She rolls her eyes at him as she pulls her sun visor down and looks in the mirror, inspecting her makeup carefully, 

“No one expects anyone to be on time in this kind of weather, Rob.” She grins wickedly at him, “Don’t get your panties in a knot. And, besides, at least this way we’ll have only… six hours and forty-five minutes of school instead of seven!” She looks very proud of her logic, and Rob glowers at her, 

“Wow.” He says, unimpressed, “A whole fucking fifteen minutes less than normal.” Jo hits him playfully in the arm, 

“You know, you’re always so cynical.” she muses teasingly, “What a glass-half-empty kind of guy…No wonder you can’t get a girlfriend.” She digs in her bag to find her mascara, continuing, 

“If it makes you feel any better, when we actually get to school, we’ll probably be another fifteen minutes late. Thirty minutes total.” The jibe is as clear in her words as it is on her smug face. Rob sends her a side-glance full of poorly concealed disdain and continues to inch along the road at a dead crawl, 

“Better be careful what you say. I might just slam on the breaks and it won’t matter how fast I was going because you’ll be too busy bleeding mascara out of your eye.” He says dryly. The corners of her lips pull down in a fleeting grimace and she twists the cap back on her makeup in defeat. 

“Fine.” She quips, “Have it your way. I hope you run over some poor animal and slide into a ditch.” Rob gives her an incredulous look and snorts, 

“I can’t believe how heartless you are. You’d kill an innocent creature just to get at me?” He shakes his head and makes a disapproving noise at the back of his throat, “Always knew you were a cruel bitch.” She turns her head to face him, her eyes dangerous slits, 

“Takes one to know one, darling.” She purrs maliciously, just as they pull into the high school parking lot. She whines as he picks a parking spot far away from the front, where the cars are sparse, 

“No!” She whimpers, “Why do we have to park all the way out here—at least drop me off at the door!” She pleads as he throws the car into park and cuts the engine. 

“Nope.” He grins like a cat, all wicked and eyes glinting, “If I have to walk from here, you do too.” They get out and Josie dances around in the cold, clapping her hands together with a lamenting groan, 

“Ugh! I hate you so much, Robin McBride! You are an absolutely terrible cousin!” She cries at him as he locks the doors. He circles around the back of the car and pats the trunk affectionately, 

“You’re right.” He says jovially, “I am. I care more about my baby than I do about you.” He says to her, and she flips him off as he shines the Honda logo with the sleeve of his sweater, “I don’t want anybody to scratch or dent the love of my life.” He coos obnoxiously, and she mutters some curse under her breath as she turns away from him, heading for the front entrance, which seems way too far away. 

“Someday someone is going to come by and fuck up your car, Rob. And you’ll have no one to blame but yourself and that shit-eating grin of yours—” He just grins wider “—You ass!” She finishes and huffs, but the small smile playing across her lips tells him all he needs to know; they could never really be mad at each other, not for long anyway. He throws his arm around her shoulders and pulls her in for a brief hug, 

“Well it better not be you.” He says smoothly, “You’ll be very sorry, I promise.” And she squirms out of his grasp with a laugh, 

“You think I’d jeopardize my free rides?” She gasps in playful surprise, and he rolls his eyes with a languid shrug, 

“With a crazy woman like you…there’s really no telling what you’d do.” She gives him a rather hard shove into the front door and he bounces back on the heels of his feet, wrenching the door open in one smooth motion. After a perfunctory “Ouch”, he makes a grand show of bowing her through the door first, like a real gentleman. 

“Bastard.” She whispers affectionately as she passes him, 

“Bitch.” He whispers back as he follows her through. 

Mrs. Beaumont, the receptionist, eyes them suspiciously as they come into her line of vision still smiling. She leans over her desk, the full girth of her pressing over the mahogany and her expression morphing into something frightfully stern, 

“Do you have an explanation for your tardiness?” She snaps, unforgiving on principle, “Where’s a note from your parents?” Mrs. Beaumont does her job well and the students generally like her. Except when they’re late. Josie always seems to have perfect timing, when it suits her, and she bows out of the line of fire just as Rob turns to face the receptionist’s verbal assault. Realizing he’s been abandoned by his own kin, Rob does what he always does when he’s cornered: 

“Ah, Mrs. Beaumont,” He says, his voice smooth and even, “Lovely meeting you here like this.” He strolls up to her and leans his arm against the desktop, “Can you believe this weather?” He goes on conversationally, his poise and tone a picture perfect model of chivalry, “You know,” He drawls confidently, “I really am glad you made it safely to work today in this awful, icy—”

“ _Mr. McBride._ ” She suddenly booms, and he knows all his efforts have been thrown out the window, “Don’t even bother trying to sweet talk me.” She says, her lips a thin line. He lets his shoulders slouch and an air of defeat cloud his features, 

“I wouldn’t dare,” He ventures, making one last-ditch attempt, however feeble, to assuage the situation, although there is a subtly unpleasant insinuation behind the words. There is no hope, though, because Mrs. Beaumont is having none of it. 

“A _note_ , Mr. McBride?” She says, punctuating each word warningly. He sighs heavily just as the bell rings and first period is let out. Kids start streaming into the hall and suddenly Rob realizes how very extraordinarily late he is, 

“No note.” He concedes, voice flat, “You can call my dad, but he’s at work now.” In other words, fat chance you’ll get a hold of him, which is partly why Rob suggested the idea. Mrs. Beaumont hardly looks pleased, but she nods curtly and waves him off, 

“Better get to class,” She snips, “I don’t want to see you late again; do you hear me, Mr. McBride?” Her voice gets progressively louder as he retreats into the crowd toward his locker, nodding continuously like a bobble-head on a dashboard, 

“Loud and clear!” He shouts as he finally turns his back and makes desperate long strides around the corner and down the hall. Josie is nowhere to be found in the mill of people, but Rob immediately spots Marc standing by his locker; the moment his best friend sees the look on his face, Marc shoves his fist over his mouth to stifle a bark of laughter, 

“Ran into Mrs. Beau, huh?” He chuckles, “Looks like she ripped you a new one.” Rob merely grumbles at him distractedly and pushes him out of the way of his locker. Marc catches the flimsy metal door before it swings into his face, as Rob had intended it to, and laughs some more, 

“Josie was in class,” He jibes and Rob glares at him as he rips books out of his backpack and stuffs it all into the recesses of the narrow locker, 

“That’s because she is a coward and ran the first second she could.” Rob gripes, just as Josie comes wandering up, a sweet smile plastered all over her face. Marc breaks out into another bout of laughter as he circles his arm around her waist and pulls her close, 

“I did no such thing,” She sing-songs, clearly overhearing their conversation, “I retreated,” She grants, “but I did so because I knew it wasn’t a battle I could win.” She pats Rob affectionately on the arm, “I let my noble, gallant, and highly competent cousin have a go at it instead. You can hardly say that was cowardly.” She concludes and Marc leans in to give her a kiss on the head, pulling her in even closer, 

“Aw,” he murmurs, “That’s my baby. Always so considerate of others.” He smiles and they share a quick, chaste kiss. Rob turns away from them, his face a mask of long-suffering distaste, 

“God, you guys, give me a break.” And when the two of them hardly pay him any attention and continue to stay glued together, Rob disgustedly adds in a huff, “Jesus, find a fucking closet or something…” And he stalks away to his second period class. 


	3. Chapter 3

After school, Rob sat with his head buried in the _Lord of the Flies_ , but all he could think about was how it had been a ridiculously bad idea to hang around Marc’s basketball practice; the incessant _thump thump_ as the ball was dribbled down the cold gym was like someone taking a hammer to his concentration. It didn’t help that Josie and Leanne were jabbering on and on about how good Zack Levitt’s ass looked in his gym shorts. Finally he couldn’t take it any more and slunk down the bleachers until he was sitting right behind the unsuspecting girls; he leaned his chin over Leanne’s shoulder and whispered,

“His ass may look delectable, ladies, but there’s nothing much to speak of in the front.” Leanne nearly did a 360 as she jumped in her seat, her face looking as equally surprised as it did horrified,

“Christ! Rob, do you have to be so vulgar!” Josie snapped, “At least let a girl dream.” She turned away from him, effectively giving him the cold shoulder. He laughed as he leaned back on the bleachers, sprawling there with his elbows propping him up and his legs splayed wide. Leanne gave him a devilish leer,

“Checking out the boys in the locker, huh? I always knew you liked dick, Rob.” She lilted, her voice low. Rob let out a single mocking laugh and grabbed his crotch suggestively,

“Hardly. It’s tough not to judge when you’ve got one as big as mine, babe.” He winked at her, “And, unlike Zack, I’ll let you take a peek if you ask nicely.” Leanne blushed terribly and gasped, her perfect eyebrows knit together and her rosy lips set in an indignant pout. Josie whirled on him and, without a second thought, punched him hard in the gut. He jerked forward and sucked in a ragged breath, laughing around the pain. Josie huffed in disgust and turned to glare out over the basketball court where the other boys were finishing up practice. As Rob straightened up, still grinning wolfishly, he could swear Leanne was looking at him out of the corner of her eye, and what he read there was unmistakable; a wisp of sudden desire twisted in his stomach, low and warm, but then he dismissed the feeling and broke the stare, indifferent. Leanne went back to doing whatever it was she was doing before, as if the fleeting glance had never happened.

Paul trotted over to them, tossing a basketball between his hands, and flicking drops of sweat in their direction. Josie groaned and scooted down the bleachers as he shook his head in her direction, sending drops flying from his wet hair.

“God, you’re so gross, Spiers.” She whined and stuck her leg out to keep him away. He stuck his tongue out at her and grabbed a towel from a nearby duffel bag. He wiped it over his face and hair, eventually running it down his muscled arms and broad shoulders. He was a good-looking guy; exceptionally tall, expansive, and blonde, he was fodder for the fantasies of almost every girl in school. Unfortunately, the brains didn’t exactly match the brawn and he had trouble keeping the opposite sex around with his prepubescent antics. Leanne was the only one who seemed immune to his childish ways and they seemed to be stuck in an on-again-off-again limbo currently going on two and a half years. She stood up on the bleachers and only then came anywhere close to his height; she pulled him close and slid her hand up under his jersey,

“You know I don’t mind when you’re all sweaty, hun.” She purred and he smiled at her lasciviously. He was about to open his mouth to make some lewd, stupid remark when Rob hastily rose to his feet and put his hands up in front of him,

“Stop! Stop!” He interjected; he removed himself from the bleachers and started to saunter away from them, walking backwards, “Let me bow out of this one, guys. I’m afraid if I don’t, I’ll vomit.” Paul looked around to see if the coach was watching, and when he saw he wasn’t, he gave Rob the bird.

“You’re just jealous, man.” Paul accused, and the look that flickered across Leanne’s face for just a moment was expectant, perhaps even hopeful. Rob waited a beat, calculating his words only for a second, before replying,

“I sure as hell don’t have any reason to be.” His voice was strangely dark, and he turned his back to them nonchalantly before he could see their faces. From the strained bark of laughter, he figured Paul didn’t have the slightest clue, which suited him just fine.

As Rob made his way across the gym, Marc extricated himself from his basketball buddies and jogged over, tossing Rob the basketball in one smooth motion. Rob wrenched his hands free of his pockets and caught the ball, dribbling it in place a couple of times for fun.

“Hey man, taking off so soon?” Marc asks, still a bit breathless. Rob spun the basketball up onto his fingertip, where it twirled precariously for a few seconds,

“You guys are a fucking bore.” He replied with a smile, “Complete snooze.” He dribbled the ball again and Marc made to block him,

“And you’re an asshole. But that’s definitely nothing new.” Marc jabbed back as Rob turned nearly at half-court and tossed the ball into the air and watched it pass easily through the hoop. Marc raised his hands in amused defeat as some of the other guys wandered over, a couple appreciative whistles echoing through the gym.

“Nothin’ but net, bee-otch.” Rob sings as he breaks into a celebratory two-step. Johnny Wasowska jumps in beside him and the two continue to break it down to an imaginary beat,

“Damn.” Johnny laughs, “Where’s some fuckin’ DJ Unk when we need it, man?” The dance slowly dies and the two laugh it off, Johnny’s arm thrown easily over Rob’s shoulder. Besides Marc, Johnny, who is affectionately nicknamed Johnny-Boy “Wow”-ska, is one of Rob’s closest friends. They live only two houses apart from each other and all the shit they’ve ever gotten themselves into over the past year has been a joint endeavor, without question.

David Maykis, the basketball team’s star player, grazes Rob’s shoulder with a pretend punch,

“Why don’t you go out for the team, you shit?” He demands, motioning towards the hoop and the basketball, which now lays forgotten against the far wall. Rob gives him a knowing smirk and both Marc and Johnny both know what’s coming,

“Nah. I’m not interested in playing with balls, Maykis.” He barely dodges another punch as their small group goes up in angry and amused commotion. He backs out of their reach, laughing, “But, hey, more for you guys that way!” he jokes,

“That was a cheap fucking shot, Rob!” David calls after him and Rob nods,

“You walked right into it, Dave! Couldn’t help myself!” And he escapes out the gym doors as the others laugh.

# ◊ ◊ ◊

He meets Josie out by his car; her nose is bright red in the cold and she has her gloved hands stuffed under her armpits,

“Hey.” She says, her words leaving her breath suspended in the chilly air,

“Hey.” He replies, fishing out his keys from the pocket of his jeans. “Need a ride?” He asks, although he already knows the answer,  
“No. Marc’s taking me home,” She says lightly, “I just wanted to make sure you made it out ok and those jocks in there didn’t beat you to death, not that you don’t deserve it.” She winks,

“How thoughtful,” He laughs, but then turns somewhat serious, “You know, the last time Marc ‘took you home’, your dad called me at two in the morning asking where the fuck you were.” He raises his eyebrows at her, expecting some apology. She grimaces and a breath escapes her clenched teeth in a hiss, “If it happens again,” Rob continues, “I’ll tell him exactly where I think you are, and he’s really not going to like it.”

“Oh, come on, Robbie!” She pleads, “Don’t tell him anything!” She wrings her hands together and gives him big puppy-dog eyes, “You know you wanna be my pimp.” She whimpers playfully, and Rob’s stern expression splits into a grin,

“If that’s the case, I get a ninety-five percent cut.” He tells her warningly. She makes a frustrated grimace, but then her face lightens up again,  
“There isn’t any cash exchange going on…but I’ll share Marc with you?”

“Oh, hell no!” Rob pulls an incredibly affronted expression, his lips turned down in a horrified frown, “That’s so bad on so many levels…” He shivers, and it isn’t because of the cold. Josie shoots him a dirty look,

“You are so mean.”

“Come on, Jo, you know I’m just picky who I share this marvelous body with,” Rob runs his hand slowly up his front, stopping to grab his pecs and moaning suggestively. Josie closes her eyes and shakes her head as if she can wipe away the previous few seconds of her life,

“Uh, no. Stop.” Josie groans, covering her ears. Rob throws his head back and laughs, sending puffs of breath into the night air like smoke. Just then Marc comes wandering out of the building, looking fresh and properly clothed. Rob knows Josie will think he’s the biggest jerk ever, but he can’t help it as he leans forward and whispers,

“You know the only reason he bothered to shower is because he thinks you’re going to put out tonight, cuz.” Josie once again turns and swats him mercilessly on the closest body part she can find. Rob lets her and steps back, laughing again. Marc jogs over, seeing the two starting to bicker, and wraps Josie up in his big arms,

“What’s going on here?” He thunders, and points a finger-gun at Rob, who raises his hands in surrender, “Something tells me you’re the culprit, ass-wipe.” Marc says slowly, his voice exaggerated and deep. Rob bows his head in mock capitulation,

“Caught me, Detective Dick-wad. I’m to blame.” He pretends to sound sad and regretful, but, failing miserably, is immediately shot by Marc’s finger-gun. Rob continues to play along and pretends to stumble back, his hand splayed over his heart where a bullet wound would be. Josie giggles, and gives her boyfriend a slight shove,

“Hey, don’t bleed out yet!” She yells over at Rob, “You still have to get home.” She says, disentangling herself from Marc’s arms. Marc nods his agreement, a sly smile creeping over his lips,

“Yeah, I don’t want to have to waste my time taking care of your sorry ass. I’ve got better things to do.” He drawls, and Rob straightens up, giving him a knowing glare,

“You mean you don’t want me to cock-block you, man.” Rob goads, and Josie makes a loud frustrated noise,

“Goddammit,” She hisses, watching as the two of them exchange looks only decipherable with a Y chromosome, “the both of you are absolutely ridiculous! Don’t be so nasty all the time!” She turns her back on them and begins to march towards Marc’s truck, several yards away. Marc turns to watch her go and doesn’t wait long before trotting off behind her,

“See ya!” He calls to Rob over his shoulder,

“Seriously wouldn’t wanna be ya!” Rob shouts back, and he can hear Josie yelling at him to ‘fuck off’ as she gets into Marc’s car. The two drive out of the parking lot much faster than is probably safe considering the ice is beginning to settle on the roads again.

Robin stands in the sudden silence, the only sound coming from his slow breaths in the still night air. He tilts his chin up, staring at the stars far above in the clear chill. He lets out a low whistle and unlocks his car door without looking; after taking one more moment to locate the Little Dipper, he gets into his car, shuts the door, and lets the engine warm up. As he finally pulls out of the parking lot, all he can think about is how he would rather lay out in the dirty clumps of snow still frozen on the side of the road than go home.


	4. Chapter 4

Rob was navigating the dark curves of Hill’s Peak Road when he decided it would be safe enough to take his eyes off the tarmac for one second to crank up Kings of Leon as "Closer’s" chorus began to bleed out of his speakers, but it only took him half a second too late to realize this was a really bad idea. A blur of movement streaked across the road, his headlights catching it in full motion, and as he slammed hard on the breaks, his brain struggling to catch up to the situation, he saw a second blur come into view. The tires slid on the ice as Rob struggled to keep the car from spinning out, and, as he came to a remarkable screeching halt, he realized, almost too late again, that he was really lucky not to have slid off the edge of the road and into the ravine below. The driver’s side of the car was dangerously close to the shoulder and the nose of his car dipped precariously where its left side nudged open air.

Rob sat stock still, his body shocked as if by a bolt of lightening and his mouth hung open as his shallow breaths suddenly turned into full-blown gasps, as if his lungs couldn’t get enough oxygen.

“ _Holy. Fuck._ ” He rasps and lets out a long groan. One minute his muscles are strung out, hard as rocks, and the next minute it feels like they’ve all melted into jelly. He lets his arms, straight out and rigid against the steering wheel, fall to his sides and he slumps down into his seat, mind blank.

Just as he thinks at least it could’ve been worse, he sees someone out of the corner of his eye standing in the middle of the dark road, barely illuminated by the car’s headlights which are uselessly beaming out into the thick expanse of pines sloping down the hill below. He has to use all of his will power not to jump right out of his skin and freak the fuck out as the man starts to walk towards him. Before he knows what he’s doing, Rob scrambles out of the car and backs away down the shoulder of the road feeling like he’s going to puke. 

The stranger circles around the vehicle and comes closer; from what Rob can make out, he’s only a handful of years older than himself, at the most. He also doesn’t need light to see that the stranger is several inches taller and what seems like five times bigger. These realizations only serve to make the shock and fear welling in the pit of his stomach finally manifest itself in the only way possible: as if jerked on marionette strings, Rob suddenly doubles over and vomits on the ground, groaning in despair as some of it splatters over his shoes. He’s not exactly sure how or why, but the stranger places a strong hand on his shoulder and, before he knows it, he’s been maneuvered back to his car and deposited into the driver’s seat.

Rob takes a deep, shaky breath as he realizes the stranger isn’t leaving him alone, like he’d prefer, but climbing into the passenger seat. He takes a moment to study the guy in the light of the car, and finds that he turns out to be somehow familiar, but he can’t place where he’s seen him before. He is big, as in even more muscled than Paul, but it’s not grotesque, as it might otherwise be; the man’s height seems to lengthen out the musculature, making him seem entirely proportionate. 

Rob can’t help but notice he’s remarkably good looking, for a guy: he has a fair, unblemished complexion, but his hair is almost black. It’s straight and long enough to run his hands through it, but short enough that it doesn’t curl annoyingly around his ears or hang off the nape of his neck. He has an angular jaw that is covered in course five-o’clock shadow, but the scruff isn’t quite thick enough to hide a distinct jagged scar along the left side of his jaw where it disappears under his chin. When Rob ventures to meet the strange man’s gaze, he feels as if the breath has been kicked out of him: his eyes are pale blue and cold as ice. They pierce Rob in an unwavering stare that leaves him feeling both vulnerable and defensive all at once.

“Who the fuck are you?” Rob whispers, and he hardly sounds as confident as he wants to. The man ignores the question, leans into the backseat to grab an abandoned T-shirt Rob’s had back there since summer break, and roughly passes the shirt over Rob’s mouth in one quick motion. At first, Rob feels like reaching out to punch the guy in the face, but then he thinks that’s probably not a good idea at all. 

The guy continues to ignore Rob as he deftly turns the shirt inside out, avoiding the smudge of vomit, and he proceeds to lift his own shirt, which Rob now notices is partly a mass of shredded fiber thick with dark blood; he suddenly feels squeamish and wonders if this nut job would think any less of him if he had to lean out the door and barf again. Rob watches as the other man lifts the tattered shirt and exposes a particularly nasty bite to his side, deep and ragged. He doesn’t even wince as he presses Rob’s shirt over the wound and starts to look for something again, rummaging through Rob’s backseat like he owns it. Rob sits gaping at him dubiously.

After a strange moment where Rob is sure his brain must’ve liquefied and leaked out his ears, something snaps into place and it all starts to make sense. He warily eyes the stranger in a new light as he studies the poorly bandaged spot where the bite had been.

“I get it.” Rob says slowly, his voice flat, “You’re a werewolf.” The stranger freezes, his arm stuck reaching back to grasp something behind his seat. His eyes come up to meet Rob’s in surprise. When he finds that Rob is reacting rather mildly to this revelation, the stranger can’t help but laugh, his voice deep and smooth. The sound leaves Rob feeling hot inside, like he just downed a whole bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

“Of all the things I could be,” The stranger rumbles, “the fact that I’m a _werewolf_ doesn’t scare you at all?” He laughs again, “Do you welcome serial killers into your car and have psychos over for dinner too?” He demands, 

“You know, anybody else right now would be pissing themselves and begging for their life, right?” He says darkly, his face suddenly appearing much closer and his grin almost malicious as sharp teeth glint in the light. Rob can’t help the shiver of fear as it skitters down his spine, but he’s not new to werewolves, and, although he figures he should still be scared out of his mind, he feels better knowing what he’s up against.

“Yeah, I get that,” He breaths, hardly more than a whisper, and he watches as the other man’s nose flares slightly, smelling him, “It’s just that…I have friends who are werewolves. They're like you...” He offers and realizes that that’s probably not the best explanation he could’ve given,

“…Werewolves like me?” The man repeats, his voice thick and ominous; the tone is clearly a warning. A spiteful sneer spreads across his lips, which are still upturned in a strange grin, as if what Rob said was funny. Suddenly the man’s hand snakes out towards Rob and takes hold of his upper arm in an excruciatingly painful grip; Rob barely restrains a surprised cry, but he desperately pulls in air through his clenched teeth and screws his eyes shut against the lighting bolt of pain ricocheting up his arm. The man’s face is frighteningly close to his own now; even though he can’t see it, he thinks he can almost feel the scruff against his cheek,

“There is no other werewolf like me, kid. Got it?” The man’s voice is a low growl and Rob swears it sounds almost exactly like a goddamned real-life wolf. Rob dares to open his eyes and he’s met with shocking black irises slivered into iridescent gold retinas; it’s unlike anything he’s ever seen before, even though he’s seen Marc and Johnny in their wolf forms many times before.

Despite the shock, Rob schools his features into an unreadable expression that earns him a somewhat rewarding reaction from the other man: his wolf-eyes noticeably dilate and his eyebrows come together in momentary confusion.

“Got it.” Rob tells him, and he’s surprised at the surety of his own voice. The wolf backs off slowly, finally releasing his arm after one last squeeze, and Rob can swear the new sharpness he’s feeling is the result of the man’s fingernails being removed from his flesh. Without another word the werewolf moves to exit the car without giving Rob a second glance. Rob finally heaves a proper sigh of relief, but his eyes happen to land on the strand of sports tape laying unraveled in the backseat. He realizes this was probably what the man was reaching for.

Without thinking, which he figures he’s been doing a lot of anyway, so one more time can’t hurt, he jumps out of the car and jogs after the other man who has almost disappeared completely into the darkness by now.

“Hey, Wolf-Man!” He shouts after the figure still several yards off. The man turns around slowly and not even the darkness of night can mask the open look of bewilderment and irritation on the man’s features. Rob daringly closes the distance between them and holds up his hand to show the man the wad of sports tape, 

“You can’t just do your wolf thing with my T-shirt hanging all loose and shit.” Rob reasons tentatively as if, like a real animal, the man might do one of two things: turn and run off into the night or go ape-shit crazy and rip him to shreds. The man doesn’t make a move or say a word, so Rob takes it as permission to step closer, still proffering the sports tape between them like a sacrifice.

Finally the man seems to relax, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. He raises his torn up shirt and pries Rob’s T-shirt off the drying blood; the wound itself is still oozing, although Rob can tell the gashes are already shallower than they were in the car. The man hands Rob the dirty T-shirt, which he hopes he’ll never have to see again after tonight, and Rob sets to work taping the T-shirt to the man’s side, careful of the way the man snarls as he passes the tape over certain parts that must still be painful. 

Finally Rob tears off the long end and splits it down the middle, circles it around the man’s torso, which he finds to be unnaturally warm and as hard as a rock, and ties it off. He steps back from his handiwork and rests his hands on his hips, strangely proud of his haphazard makeshift bandage. The man stares at him quizzically and, if Rob didn’t know any better, a little amused,

“Well, I’ve done my good deed of the day, that’s for fucking sure.” Rob says sociably, finding himself unable to stop a quirky, blinding smile from gracing his features. The werewolf stares at him for a long moment as if he’s grown two heads, but then a guarded smile finally spreads over his own lips, as if it were infectious.

“…I don’t get you.” The man finally says with a slight chuckle. Rob throws his arms up in a gallant shrug, as if to say I’ve heard that before. The words that tumble from Rob’s mouth, however, are slightly different,

“Yeah, well, I could say the same about you, champ.” He motions his hand towards the stranger as if it would explain everything, “…Jumping out in front of cars, chasing who knows what in the dead of night...getting your wolf blood all over my upholstery…” A small smile touches Rob’s lips as he backs away slowly, hands tucked into his pockets. The retreat is meant to be casual, a simple signal to end their encounter, but the stranger can see the wariness return in the younger man, 

“…It’s all pretty fucking mysterious—” As he says this, Rob quickly lifts one hand in a yielding motion, as if he were waving a white flag, “—but, hey, who am I to judge?” He skips back the rest of the way to his car and peers over the top at the man still standing there; they stare at each other in silence for a very long moment before Rob opens his car door and yells over at him before getting in,

“Good luck with your werewolf thing! Try not to get yourself turned into road kill!” The man watches as Rob carefully backs up onto the icy asphalt and starts up the road again, and when Rob passes the stranger he thinks he can make out an almost friendly grin on the other man’s lips.

# ◊ ◊ ◊

When Rob pulls into the driveway of the modest, inconspicuous two-story house he shares with his father, he realizes with sudden dread that it is almost twelve o’clock; the evening practice had gone late and he must’ve been out there stranded on Hill’s Peak dealing with Wolf-Man for at least half an hour, if not more.

He takes a deep breath meant to steady his racing heart as he gets out of his car and watches the house, which sits dark and quiet. Thanks, dad, don’t even bother to leave the porch light on. He grits his teeth in equal amounts of bitter irritation and familiar apprehension as he mounts the steps and slots his key into the front door; as he pushes it open, cursing under his breath at the signature creak of old wood, he is at first relieved that it seems like no one is up: the living room is dark, the TV off, and the hall leading to the bathroom and stairs shows no sign of activity. He steps into the house, presses the door shut behind him as silently as he can, and makes for the stairs, deftly avoiding the floorboards he knows would squeak under his feet. 

However, before he can even take the first step, he spots the dark silhouette of his father looming in the kitchen doorway; the crystal of a brandy glass shines unmistakably between his father’s fingers as the neighbor’s floodlight catches it through the window. Rob sucks in a shallow breath, forcing it out slowly, calmly. His father comes forward, his strangely relaxed gait a testament to the drink Rob knows he has been nursing, which would have hardly been the first of the evening. In the hallway, the man is just a dark mass, but as he moves into the watery light filtering in from the living room windows Rob can finally see the grim and restless look on his father’s tight features.

“Where were you?” Mr. McBride is not a violent drunk, but a man whose natural penchant for controlled ferocity is undoubtedly fueled by his equal penchant for expensive liquor. As he addresses Rob, his voice is frighteningly neutral, and this is what Rob finds most disturbing; he would rather his father shout and fume and rage, rather than be devoid of any emotion at all. Perhaps Mr. McBride knew this and that’s why he did it, but Rob couldn’t tell; for all he knew, his father found his sole purpose to be driven by the desire to have the most dysfunctional and distant relationship with his son as he could.

“I was with Josie and Marc.” Rob replies steadily, his voice betraying nothing. It is as if the two of them are having a contest to see who can avoid eliciting an emotional response the longest. The truth is, Rob is exceptionally good at masking his feelings, burying them deep in the recesses of his mind where he hopes they’ll get lost; he also derives secret satisfaction from practicing the maddeningly dispassionate and unreadable demeanor he had so perfected over the years with his father on friends at school, although he almost never admits it to himself. His reputation for being the mysteriously undecipherable cousin of Josie McBride had preceded him well before he even came to Ironhedge at the end of his sophomore year, and he takes great pleasure in upholding it.

“Doing what?” His father demands, his voice an octave lower and his chin tilted down in that way he adopted when he was descending to the next level of inebriated seriousness Rob had come to find predictable. Rob’s fingers tighten around the handrail, but his expression remains the same as he answers coolly,

“We were snorting coke and having an orgy, dad. Sorry I didn’t call and let you know first.” The look on his father’s face hardly wavers as he stands there, but his lips press themselves into a thin, pale line and his eyes harden, unforgiving,

“You think just because you’re turning eighteen soon you can do whatever the hell you want.” It isn’t a question, but an accusation, and, although his father’s voice is deceptively low and calculating, Rob can hear the pressure in it, as if he might crack.

“No.” Rob counters, measuring his words, although he knows what he is about to say is old news, “I want you to trust me.”

His father turns away from him then, scoffing bitterly; he points his finger back at Rob, the glass sloshing its golden contents dangerously,

“Funny thing to say,” He mutters, “when you give me no reason to.” And that hurts more than Rob expected it would,

“Or maybe you won’t even try.” Rob snaps, barely controlling the unanticipated waver threatening his voice, “You think I’d actually do those things? What? Just because I’m a teenager, like it’s required in the job description or something?” His father still won’t look at him, just lifts the glass to his lips. Rob senses that the conversation is coming to an end and gently raps his fingers against the railing, defeated,

“It’s not exactly like you’ve given me a reason to trust you either.” Rob whispers to his father’s back, his voice grim and deeply bitter, “The only thing I can trust is to come home and find you fucking wasted.”

He continues up the stairs without another word and leaves his father standing motionless in the dark hallway.


	5. Chapter 5

“God, you look like shit!” Josie exclaims as she drops her lunch bag down on the table and then deposits herself next to her cousin. Marc’s gaze goes from his girlfriend then back to Rob who is sitting across from him. Rob is hunched over his tray listlessly, swirling his fork in a pile of overcooked spaghetti, but when Josie plops herself down he straightens up and a smile slides onto his lips,

“Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” He says silkily, “Maybe you guys weren’t the only ones getting laid…” He suggests coarsely and chuckles when Josie pulls a face. It is true though, he looks like he has hardly gotten any sleep; there are dark circles under his eyes and he looks unusually pale.  
Marc gives him a nudge under the table and breaks out into laughter,

“Damn, I wish you were being serious right now, Rob!” He chides half-heartedly, “Paul would totally owe me twenty bucks right now.” Rob looks at him quizzically,

“Why? You guys think I can’t get it up?”

“Nah, man, he thinks you’re just crazy for keeping all the girls out of your pants, and I bet him you’d get some tail before the end of the year!” Marc explains, giving a sly imploring look, his eyebrows wiggling up and down,

“Yeah? And who the fuck says I didn’t last night?” Rob demands good-naturedly, but the accompanying shrug tells them he isn’t serious. Rob stabs a slice of peach off his tray and points it ceremoniously at Marc’s head,

“Don’t worry, Cupid,” He drawls, “I’ll still win you a bet before the semester’s up.” And he pops the peach into his mouth as Marc leans back in his seat with a triumphant “Cha-ching!” Josie is ignoring them with a pointed glare off into the distance, but when the boy-talk simmers down she throws a covert glance at her cousin, concern written across her pretty features. Rob catches her glance and gives her a small smile, thankful and reassuring at the same time. They don’t talk about it for the rest of the day.

# ◊ ◊ ◊

Rob is careful about dressing down for PE, making sure to avoid unwanted attention to his arm by coming to school wearing a long-sleeved Under Armour T-shirt. However, after a heated six-on-six skirmish, Rob wants nothing more than to shower the sweat off, so he does what he does best. He plays it off.

Miraculously, it’s only after he is pulling a fresh shirt over his head that Marc comes up to him, his eyes pinned to the deep bruise and red little half-moons clearly visible on his bicep.

“What’s that?” Marc demands, his voice low and uncharacteristically serious. He is inadvertently crowding Rob up against his locker, and, although Rob is not a small guy, coming in at almost six feet and sporting considerate lean muscle, Marc is definitely still larger than him. The physical proximity is not threatening, although Rob figures it might’ve been in any other situation, but something in Marc’s stare is intense and different, as if he could somehow tell what had happened the night before just by looking at the impressive black and blue handprint stamped into Rob’s skin.

“My squeeze got a little rough last night…?” He jokes half-heartedly, already knowing Marc won’t let him off with that. And, sure enough, Marc gives him a sharp, disappointed look, his lips curling back into a silent growl,

“Rob.” He whispers, keeping his voice quiet so the others milling around won’t hear, but the warning timbre of Marc’s deep voice is not lost on Rob who forcefully yanks his shirt down over his head in sudden unrestrained irritation,

“It doesn’t matter.” He glowers, his eyes never wavering from Marc’s. Marc gives a small, frustrated huff, his stance switching from domineering to almost yielding in one second,

“It does, and you know it,” He hisses. He waits a long moment before adding uncertainly, “…Your father didn’t do that, did he?” For a second, Rob can’t understand what Marc is saying; his mouth gapes as he stares at Marc, uncomprehending,

“ _What?_ ” Rob finally manages, and Marc runs his hand through his hair sheepishly, looking away,

“…I mean, come on, you know Josie tells me stuff, man…” He chuckles hesitantly, trying to play it down. Rob’s face snaps into an offended look and he pushes Marc away as he grabs up his hoodie and throws it on,

“Fuck both of you.” Rob snarls, and it’s the first time Marc thinks he’s ever seen Rob really truly angry. Of course Rob figured they probably shared information about him that he had only confided in one or the other; it wasn’t that that surprised him, but the blatant lack of reserve in regards to his relationship with his father had caught him completely off guard and threw a sizeable wrench in his ability to rationalize the situation. He couldn’t believe Marc thought his father was responsible…

Marc tried to place a hand on Rob’s shoulder, to still him, but Rob spun around, his face dangerously close,

“My dad would never try something like that,” He whispers, livid, “I’d make him fucking regret it.” Marc watches his friend closely, a look of mixed bewilderment and concern in his expression. Wisely, Marc doesn’t mention Rob’s father again, but he refuses to let the injury go.

“Then…how did you get it?” He presses, and Rob knows he isn’t going to get off the hook without giving a viable answer.

“I think he was an alpha.” The truth rolls off his tongue easily, as if he were telling Marc it was going to rain for the rest of the week. Marc stares at him blankly, desperately trying to process the words he has just heard.

“An alpha?” Marc repeats, and Rob rolls his eyes; with his fist, he punches Marc’s naked arm hard, the resounding smack making Marc curse,  
“You didn’t hear me wrong, dumbass.” Rob snaps, his patience smarting, “Yeah, an alpha.”

“God, touchy much?” Marc grumbles, rubbing his arm furiously. Rob ignores his jab and proceeds to tell him the whole story, careful to avoid being overheard by the few stragglers still left in the locker room. By the end of it, Marc stands frowning at one of the empty lockers left hanging open, as if he can decipher the strange tale in its dusty corners.

“Huh.” He finally mutters, tone opaque.

“Is that the best you can come up with, Sherlock?” Rob glares at him as they exit the locker room. Marc is still oddly contemplative and gives Rob a distracted shrug,

“Sounds like a Roman.” He eventually says, and Rob can glean nothing particularly useful from his measured cadence.

“The Romans? Like Elijah Roman?” Rob had never met Elijah, who was in the same grade as them but had left town a couple months before Rob moved to Ironhedge at the end of his sophomore year. Needless to say, Rob feels like he doesn’t need to meet this mysterious and elusive boy-wonder; he hears enough from all the girls lamenting over his disappearance. The guy Rob ran into on Hill’s Peak couldn’t have been Elijah though…

“Wolf-Man was, like, ten years older than me, though…” Rob reasons and catches a fleeting look of amusement from Marc,

“Wolf-Man?” He chuckles, and Rob shrugs with a grin. Marc thinks for a moment, his features turning pensive again.

“Well, it couldn’t have been Elijah anyway. He skipped town for his Turning.” Marc says matter-of-factly,

“His what?” Rob frowns, “What the fuck’s that? Like… _The Walking Dead_ …or butterfly metamorphosis?” Marc snorts and his head swivels toward Rob’s serious expression, his own look skeptically amused,

“Yeah, it’s a hardcore zombie-insect-werewolf crossover...” He says sarcastically and shoves Rob with his shoulder, shaking his head and adding affectionately, “You jackass. I don’t even know where you come up with this shit...” The two make their way quickly down the empty halls, wordlessly agreeing to skip class; they scan a back exit quickly before shuffling out into the snow towards the covered football bleachers. Marc watches a puff of air escape his lips and makes a face,

“It’s not easy to explain, but it’s kind of like a…coming-of-age sort of thing. Like, it marks the first time you fully shift into your wolf form.” He says, and Rob nods, watching the snow pass beneath his feet,

“And that requires a year-long quarantine?” He asks, and Marc purses his lips, hiding a smile,

“Hardly. When I went through mine, my parents kept me out of school for a couple days, told everyone I had the flu.” He laughs, “I mean, it really is supposed to be a big deal, but it’s not exactly like we can go celebrate it down at the local Denny’s, you know? ‘Hey puny human, can I have a chocolate milkshake and please make that steak raw?’”

“Yeah, ok, so it’s like a werewolf bar mitzvah in Nazi-era Germany. I get it.”

“God, you’re terrible.”

“Just wrapping my head around things.” Rob tilts his head in that way he sometimes does when he knows he’s being a shit but pretends not to. Marc has to laugh at him as he digs out an old pack of cigarettes and lights one up under the protection of the stands. He takes a drag, wetting his lips after blowing the smoke out; he passes the cigarette to Rob.

“The Roman’s are filthy rich, you know. They must’ve whisked Elijah away to some secluded woodsy retreat where he can turn, all dope and swanky like.” Marc says after a while, and there is a bit of bitterness in his tone. Rob laughs quietly around the butt of the cigarette,

“I hope they didn’t forget the beer, bong, and babes though. What the fuck kind of party is it if you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere for a whole year?” Rob snickers, his nose scrunched up as if he’d just been told a bad joke. Marc’s sudden bark of laughter sends a couple crows flying from a nearby tree, their black wings a stark contrast to the white winter sky.

“Well…” He spreads his arms wide to indicate their location, “You might as well be in Ironhedge.” Rob bursts into laughter, reeling back on his seat and nearly dropping the cigarette in his lap. He passes it off to Marc before he burns a hold in the crotch of his jeans and straightens up, still chuckling,

“Ahh, poor you, Marc,” He sticks his lower lip out in exaggerated grief, “Sorry your little coming-out party wasn’t so grand.” Marc punches him hard in the side,

“Fuck, I don’t care what you say—It sucked ass!” He growls, “This Podunk town is a waste of space on the map, man. I mean, come on, the closest place to do anything worth shit is fucking Deermore, and nobody wants to go there.” At the mention of their rival neighbors Rob makes an appropriately disgusted sound at the back of his throat,

“You’re right…” He says with a dramatic sigh, “How tragic, having to turn all rabid in a little shit-hole like this.” Marc gives Rob a look, but reluctantly ignores the rabies jab.

“Don’t be jealous. It’s seriously not that great…you get extra hairy, a bit more horny, and a lot more hungry, but it’s nothing really special.” He snorts, finishing off the cigarette and snubbing it out in the snow. Rob is quick to react; he raises his hands up, palms facing Marc,

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, man! You can keep all the hair and shit. A werewolf’s just an over-glorified dog after all.” Marc’s eyebrows shoot up and he lookes at Rob as if to say, Don’t even fucking go there! Rob gives him a discerning look,

“You know I’m right, Fido.” He presses, and Marc sucks in a sharp, insulted breath and waves his finger at Rob warningly, still at a loss for words, “I bet you’d love it if I rubbed your belly,” Rob goes on, cooing annoyingly, “or if we played Frisbee in the park.” Rob is starting to crack up, but the second Marc sees a sly glint enter Rob’s eye, he knows there’s more: “Or how about I let you chew on a bone, huh, boy?” Rob suggests, his voice low and dripping with unmistakable innuendo. Marc shoots to his feet and shoves Rob hard off the bleachers and watches as Rob, still laughing, lays sprawled out in the snow, unmoving. 

Despite himself, Marc can’t help the smile threatening his own lips; he slowly steps down off the bleachers to help Rob back up, but not before scooping up a handful of snow, packing it into a ball, and dropping it on his friend’s unsuspecting face,

“That’s my revenge, you bitch!” Marc laughs triumphantly and dances out of reach as Rob splutters and jerks into an upright position,

“Aw, damn it!” Rob yells, his voice pitched a bit higher than normal, “It went down my fucking shirt!” Rob nearly jumps to his feet and starts hopping from one foot too another, scrubbing his jacket against his body in the hopes that the fabric of his shirt underneath would wick up the freezing moisture. As he begins to get over the shock, he whirls towards Marc’s smartly retreating form and stabs the air vehemently with his middle finger,

“Fuck you!” Rob yells after him, “You’re gonna die, you bastard!” And he makes a mad dash just as Marc turns to full on sprint back towards the school, which is now surrounded by homeward-bound students.

Marc is almost in the clear as Josie stands watching the two boys from the edge of the football field, but just as she is sure Marc is going to make it, Rob makes a gallant jump and tackles Marc to the ground. The two of them wrestle around until Marc, who has taken the snow-covered ground to the face, throws Rob off him and rolls away, yelling “Truce, truce!” and Rob, covered from head to foot in snow, huffs “Coward!” but relents. Josie carefully walks up to them, her boots squeaking in the snow.

“I can’t believe you guys.” She says mildly, “It’s like we’re in elementary school.” Marc, who is scrubbing snow out of his hair, cracks a broad grin and points at Rob,

“He started it.” He says accusingly, and Rob makes to throw a snowball at him, but drops it at the last second, looking guilty.

“Ok. I did.” He admits and gives Josie puppy-dog eyes, “Forgive me?” She shakes her head affectionately at him and just sighs,

“What were you guys doing anyway? You missed a lab in bio.” She says, looking off into the distance where their footprints in the snow track back to the covered stands. Rob smiles slyly and throws his arm around Marc, pulling him in close,

“I took you up on your offer.” He informs her with a devilish wink. Marc stares at the two of them, confused, as Josie gawks at Rob before erupting into peals of laughter.

“What offer?” Marc eyes the two innocently, “What’d you take her up on?” Rob turns to him, raising one eyebrow lewdly, and runs his hand up the front of Marc’s open jacket without warning,

“Jo made a deal with me: If I keep your guy’s late-night hook ups on the down low, she’ll share you with me.” He purrs, and Marc looks only momentarily scandalized before turning back to Josie and making a show of hooking his fingers through Rob’s belt-loops, pulling him even closer,

“Oh, trust me, we had our own biology lab out on the bleachers,” Marc drawls lasciviously, playing along. He turns to run his free hand through Rob’s dark hair, “Isn’t that right, baby?” He murmurs close to Rob’s ear. Rob bites his lip and groans, long and low,

“Oh, yeah…” He cracks a smile at Josie’s equally annoyed and humored expression, “You can play with my biology any day, big boy.” And Josie lets out an irritated growl,

“Ok!” She snaps, “Enough!” and the two boys separate in a fit of laughter. She turns away and marches off towards the parking lot, glaring playfully back at Marc,

“If that’s how it is, Marc, you can just stick with Rob.” She says sweetly, “And you can forget about these.” She turns around, walking backwards, and cups her breasts through her jacket. Marc’s jaw drops and two seconds hasn’t gone by before he is turning to Rob with smile,

“Sorry, dude, you aren’t that good.” he says teasingly as he turns to go after his girlfriend.

“Oh, ouch, man!” Rob hisses, pretending to be stung, “Bros before hoes!” He shouts after him, and Josie turns on her heels again and shouts back,

“Chicks before dicks!” Rob laughs; he can hear Marc saying,

“It doesn’t work like that, Josie. I’m not a chick…” But Josie easily dismisses him,

“He gets what I mean. Besides, I’m a chick. And he’s a dick. Simple.” She replies confidently, and they round the corner and are gone, leaving Rob alone at the edge of the snowy football field.

As the silence falls over him like a blanket, absolute and tangible, Rob lifts his chin to the sky, his eyes squinting against the white-gray horizon. There, masked by the thick cloud cover, new snowflakes begin to fall. They drift down slowly but steady, and Rob stands there, not daring to move, until the first snowflake finally lands on his shoulder and melts unceremoniously into the dark fabric of his jacket, gone forever.


End file.
